


M

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Branding, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those thoughts were foolish, and Miles could not afford to fool himself any longer.  Not with the proof of his failure standing out, stark and blistered, on Charlie’s forearm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soo/gifts).



> This is set after S01E07, "The Children's Crusade."

The moon was rising, shedding a faint light through the window of the abandoned house they’d appropriated for the night. It’s a nice house, with four bedrooms upstairs and, after a short dinner of rabbit and wild mushrooms, Miles ordered them all to bed, to rest, to recover, from the last few days. 

Miles, himself, was exhausted, his muscles ached from the swim, the rescue, and the fifteen-mile walk to this house; his mind felt the ware of being on edge since the moment they had laid eyes on the conscription ship. For years, Miles wasn’t worried about anything beyond where he was going to find the next bottle of whiskey. Now, he was worried about Nora and Aaron, about Bass, about all the people who had suffered under his reign, about Ben and Rachel and Danny. About Charlie.

For months, Miles’ dreams had been filled with bombs and guns and soldiers, his muscles tensed and wrought even in sleep. When Charlie lifted the quilt, Miles had been dozing, dreaming about power and lighthouses and fire. With one hand, he grabbed for his rifle, with the other, her wrist, before she murmured his name and he relaxed, dropped the rifle and rolled her under him. 

Charlie had only waited until the first hints of dusk before sneaking into his room, and he wished he were patient enough to undress her slowly. But, she had been anxious and shaky under his touch, only calming when he entered her. She had sighed and moaned into his mouth, and he had felt her muscles relax as he took pleasure from her body, so that, when they were done, she had curled against him and fallen asleep before he had the chance to catch his breath.

If he was being honest, he’d admit that his orgasm had calmed him, as well, the feel of her in his arms soothed the worry that had been rotting away for months, telling him she wasn’t safe, not with him, not on this journey, not in his Republic. But here, with her in his arms, he could convince himself that this was alright, the he could do this, keep her safe, keep her happy, keep her from Bass and the militia and the secret that she was born into.

Those thoughts were foolish, and even here, in this place that is only theirs, Miles could not afford to fool himself any longer. Not with the proof of his failure standing out, stark and blistered, on Charlie’s forearm. Pressing a kiss into her shoulder, Miles pressed closer to Charlie’s back and traced the letter with his fingertips. _M_ for Monroe, _M_ for Matheson. 

This was his doing, in so many ways. His fault that she was in the ship, his fault that she was screaming his name as their dirty hands were on her, his fault that the militia used such draconian tactics in the first place. Seeing the product of all those bad decisions made so many years ago, burned into the skin of _this_ woman, it was all a little more than Miles was prepared for when this began.

“Miles?” Charlie’s voice, thick with sleep, surprised Miles enough that his fingers stuttered against her forearm. “Do you really think there’s a way to turn the power back on?”

Miles shrugged, his skin moving against hers, in warm contrast to the question. “I don’t know. Your dad seemed to think there was.”

“Did he have something to do with turning it off?”

Miles refrained from saying _I ask myself that every day_ and instead said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t want to argue, but he was still exhausted and on edge. He bent his head, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades, and forced his muscles to relax.

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was soft, as if she was trying to convince herself. “It’s gonna be harder to get Danny now, isn’t it?”

“Now that Monroe has the pendant?” She nodded, her hair brushing against his shoulder. He pressed even closer, continuing to trace the brand in focused little circles. “Yeah.”

She pressed her arm into his touch, her body shivering, and he realized, suddenly, that he was hard. The low thrum of arousal in the back of his mind gained depth, and he refocused his touch. “I don’t want to talk about Monroe anymore.”

She moaned in agreement and he slid a leg in-between hers. He used his freehand to trace down her stomach, finding her still wet and loose. In one movement, he pushed forward and sunk into her, throwing his head back and groaning at the feel of her, tight and warm and snug around him. He wanted to take this slow, wanted to explore her body with his mouth and his hands, wanted to build slowly to a crescendo that would leave her moaning and begging him to get her off.

Instead, she whimpered, and he groaned, “Charlie,” before thrusting, hard, against her. He wanted her as much as he did an hour ago. It was never enough; even in her he wanted more, to satisfy himself like this forever, here, in this room, with the moon and the hay mattress and Nora and Aaron down the hall. 

With one hand he continued to trace the _M_ , reframing the mark as one of possession, not by the militia, but by him, now, the Miles Matheson who he had wanted to be ever since he walked out on Monroe and the Republic and everything that _M_ used to stand for. It was a brand, his brand, and she was his. Forever, if he had his say.

His balls felt heavy as he moved against her, thrusting as well as he could in this position, spooned around her and cupping her to him. In his head, he pushed her onto her back, climbed on top of her and possessed her with sharp, hard strokes that had her crying his name and the headboard banging against the wall. In here, though, he had to bite into her shoulder just to keep from groaning too loudly, and then Charlie turned her head and they were kissing, awkward, slightly side-ways kisses, but hot and messy and, for the first time, Miles realized that she wanted him to take possession of her as badly as he wanted to take her.

He dropped his free hand between her legs, found her wetter and more wanting than he ever had before. She whimpered into his mouth, her tongue pushed against him, her teeth dug into his lips as she convulsed around his fingers. She broke away, panting in harsh, breathy whines, and lifted her leg, opening herself wider and urging him faster, harder, to take his pleasure from her. 

He lost his rhythm, bending his head against her neck. She tightened her thighs, squeezing him, asked him to give himself to her, and he did, grunting and coming in prolonged, primal thrusts. When he caught his breath, he lifted her arm to his mouth, kissing the brand with gentle stripes of his tongue. She shivered with the aftershocks, her thighs shaky and achy around him and, reluctantly, he pulled out. 

With the edge of the blanket, he wiped her thighs dry, then rolled onto his back. She shifted with him, curled against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head before, finally, drifting off to sleep.


End file.
